“If the doors to perception were cleansed, everything would appear
to man as it is—infinite.”
-William Blake

 

   We are travelers.  Our existence lies in the navigation of the delicate balance between our internal, imaginative space, and that which surrounds us externally.  My navigation occurs through the medium of paint.  This is the place where conflicting notions of reality, those strange shifts in gravity, can coexist.  I am constantly struggling with how to define what reality is to me.  When I experience vertigo, I believe I am falling even when the majority of my senses are trying to convince me of the solidity of the ground I’m standing on.  Painting is not an answer, but it opens doors that would otherwise remain closed.  If there is such a thing as stillness, I would find it nestled between these two parallel realms, or perhaps my eyes would just open wider so that I could see what has always been there.  I am running after a bird that inevitably takes flight at the moment when I am about to feel the soft brush of its feathers.  And then I depart.